Page 81 of Make the Play
In Emerson’s short twenty-six years of life, he quickly learned that the things he loves needed to be protected. Sometimes hidden away. Part of this was born from a discomfort with being perceived, along with a hefty amount of fear of ridicule—usually from his own family. He’s always minimized or hid his intense interest in things, worried about losing it or having it taken away.
He wants to hide Jason away right now. Wants to pull him back into that bubble of happiness they created in the photo booth where the perceptions of students and coworkers didn’t matter. To a place where only happy memories exist. The kind his mom might have had here. Denise said his mom liked to dance, which meant she probably came to homecoming here, just like Emerson.
“Matthew Albert Smith,” Jason intones in the kind of teacher voice Emerson rarely hears him use.
Matty straightens up like he’s been struck by lightning while the other players howl with laughter, shoving each other and making a lot ofohsandahsthat have Emerson clenching his jaw.
“Damn, Coach,” Matty whistles, “didn’t have to do me so dirty.”
“Yes, he did,” Arlo hisses. “You’re making Mr. Miller uncomfortable.”
“No, I’m not,” Matty protests with that same smile he always wears, a smile that drops when he looks at Emerson. Clearly his attempt to smile is not working because Matty’s expression falls. “Shit, I’m sorry, Mr. Miller. I was just teasing. Honest. It’s good to see Coach King happy. Besides, you’re our good luck charm.”
“I don’t think that’s true,” Emerson protests, but no one seems to be listening to him.
“Mr. Miller is the best,” Arlo says, snatching the photo from Matty and closing the few steps between them to pass it back to Jason who tucks it into his suit pocket. Arlo’s jaw is tight, head held high as he stalks back to the group. Emerson waits, afraid Arlo might be ostracized or yelled at, but all that happens is Matty swinging his arm around Arlo’s shoulder and ruffling his hair.
“Hell yeah, he’s the best.” Matty’s smile returns. “Mr. Miller won us homecoming.”
“Then why were you teasing him?” Arlo challenges, and Emerson smiles for real, unsure he’s ever seen Arlo really stand up for anything like this. He’s not sure why he, of all people, might be the catalyst, but knowing how much Arlo holds back, it makes Emerson proud to see him speak up.
“I wasn’t teasing Mr. Miller, I was teasing Coach. He blushes like a?—”
Arlo slaps his hand over Matty’s mouth, almost immediately yanking it back with a frown. “You licked me.”
“Serves you right,” Matty laughs.
“I don’t know why I like you,” Arlo grumbles, crossing his arms.
“I knew you liked me, Rosales. Come on, let's take a photo.”
“You and me?” Arlo squeaks.
“Yeah, why not?” Matty reaches for Arlo’s arm, pulling him into the photo booth.
“Let’s go,” one of the other players says, half of them shoving each other to try and squeeze into the small photo booth along with Matty and Arlo.
“Think you can handle this, Mabel?” Jason asks.
Mabel scoffs. “I’ve been handling teenage boys longer than you’ve been alive, Jason.”
“Of course you have,” Jason grins in that easy way of his that makes it seem like everything is normal. It’s a wonder he can manage it because Emerson’s entire life feels like it’s teetering on the edge. Somehow it never occurred to Emerson how different it would feel, probably because it never occurred to him he had a chance with Jason. He might have wished a few times, but that wasn’t the same as believing it could happen, or thinking of the possibilities.
There are possibilities now, and Emerson’s brain is going in a million directions. What if Jason likes Emerson enough to realize he’s not straight, but not in a relationship kind of way? What if he kisses Emerson again and realizes how woefully inexperienced Emerson is in all things relationship and wants someone who knows more to figure things out with? Even as he thinks it, nausea churns in his gut. He doesn’t like the idea of Jason with anyone else. When he thought Jason was straight, he’d been fine with it, but now he’s not, and Emerson doesn’t understand why, just knows he feels mildly ill.
“Emmy, did you hear what I said?”
The use of his special nickname from Jason drags Emerson out of his mental spiral, but can’t change that he wasn’t listening. He shakes his head, frowning.
“Follow me,” Jason says, lifting a hand like he’s going to reach for Emerson’s and then dropping it. Is that because he changed his mind or because they’re chaperoning and it might be inappropriate? He supposes kissing at the dance was probably inappropriate, but no one saw them. Well, unless you count the photo from the photo booth that Matty had.
This is so complicated. Emerson hates complicated things. Why can’t it be as simple as he likes Jason and Jason likes him and no one else matters?
With a bitten off sigh, Emerson follows Jason, not entirely sure where they’re going until Jason leads him around the snack table and back towards his office. He trails after him, watching the students dance and wondering again if his mom ever went to homecoming.
Jason pulls a key out of his pocket, unlocking the door and flipping the light on while waiting for Emerson to step inside before shutting the door. The noises from the gym are still loud, but dulled here, and some of the tightness in his chest unwinds because this is familiar. Just him and Jason in their spot. The place where they share lunch and talk. A place where the rest of the world doesn’t matter. More of that tension bleeds away when Jason closes the distance between them and pulls Emerson into a crushing hug, the deep pressure exactly what his deregulated nervous system needs.
Attempting to shove his face into Jason’s neck, he’s frustrated to find his ear defenders making it uncomfortable. Yanking them off, he drops them to the floor, immediately burying his face in the crook of Jason’s neck. With his ear against his shoulder and his lips half-pressed to the hollow of Jason’s throat, he breathes a little easier, focusing on Jason’s familiar scent and the warmth of his body.
